


Just Around the Corner: A You’ve Got Mail AU

by writingfics_giffingthings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1998, AOL, Bookstore AU, Cranky Business Sam, Destiel RomCom, Dial Up Modem Sounds Ahoy!, M/M, This is a period piece, Totally unironic tags, You've Got Mail AU, gradually lessening plagiarism, kid!jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:59:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfics_giffingthings/pseuds/writingfics_giffingthings
Summary: In the early days of internet friendships, two strangers fall for each other online. But when they turn out to be real life rivals, will they ever get the chance to give their love a try?Author's note: my undying gratitude to goodlookingsass for her volunteer labor as my beta reader, sole editor, and voice of reason.





	Just Around the Corner: A You’ve Got Mail AU

The muted morning light and the sounds of Meg shuffling through the paper woke Cas up. He stretched and snuggled back into the plush floral comforter, refusing to open his eyes just yet.

“Can you believe this,” Meg said, and it wasn’t a question. Cas opened one eye to see her wheeling into the room, tapping a finger pointedly onto the folded New York Times in her lap. She wore a crisp baby blue button down, jeans, and burgundy patent leather loafers. She parked her chair next to the bedroom window, and Cas squeezed his eyes shut again, focusing on the rich scent of coffee wafting through the couple’s Manhattan apartment.

“The entire workforce for the state of Virginia had to have Solitaire removed from their computers,” Meg continued, and without needing to see her, Cas knew her eyebrows were dancing dramatically as she spoke, “because they hadn’t done any work in two months.”  
Cas nuzzled his head back into the pile of pillows and blinked up at the ceiling.

“Unbelievable, darling.” Cas glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table. “Aren’t you late?”

“You know what this is, Cas,” Meg warned, ignoring Cas’s question. “The downfall of Western civilization.” Cas sat up, rubbing his eyes. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, hoisting himself up and trundling to the bathroom.

Meg popped her head around the corner and gestured toward Cas’s desk, where his laptop lay dormant.

“You think that machine is your friend, but it’s not.” Cas shoved his toothbrush into his mouth and made a vaguely affirmative noise. Meg glanced at her watch. “I’m late.” Cas followed her through their bedroom and into the cozy living area.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Cas said around the toothbrush in his mouth. Meg grabbed her cup of coffee and headed out the door.

“Sushi,” Meg suggested without turning her head.

“Mmphkay!” Cas managed. He watched the door swing shut behind Meg, huffed a sigh through his nose and padded back to the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste. He counted the seconds as he rinsed out his mouth. The elevator was too far away from their door for the bell to be heard from inside the apartment, but he was fairly sure enough time had passed. He snuck over to the door and opened it a crack, holding his breath as he peered out. The hall was empty. She was gone.

A rush of adrenaline hit Cas’s belly. He bit his lip and made a beeline to his desk in the bedroom, straightening his pajamas defensively. It wasn’t that he was doing anything wrong, per se. Chat rooms were completely anonymous. It was just a bit of fun.

Cas opened the laptop and sat down. It wasn’t like he had any intention of meeting his new friend, CoffeeAndPie_OhMy, in real life. They were just talking, he told himself as the modem squealed. He logged in using his handle, ShopBoy. His heart skipped a beat as the AOL voice told him, “You’ve got mail!”

Junk, junk, junk. Cas read quickly through his new messages. A new email message from CoffeeAndPie_OhMy. He bit back a smile as he opened the message, simply titled, “The Colonel.” He had an hour before he had to leave, two before the bookstore needed to open, so he settled in.

“The Colonel is my German shepherd. He prefers not to be addressed directly, which is lucky, given his name. Imagine calling a dog with that name. ‘Here, the Colonel! Come, the Colonel! The Colonel, sit.’ It just doesn’t work, and our arrangement works fine as it is. He is a good boy, and like me, he enjoys New York City for its food. We each have our own styles. For instance, he happily gobbles bits of bagel and pizza off the street, while I prefer to buy them.” Cas brought an index finger to his mouth, biting his nail as he read.

 

“The Colonel has the tendency to stick his snout where it doesn’t belong,” Dean tapped out on his laptop. He found it easy talking to this man he knew as ShopBoy. Stranger or not, they seemed to click. The story Dean wanted to tell poured easily from his fingers. “He doesn’t understand that we humans need a little warning, and maybe a dinner date, before we're comfortable with someone’s face anywhere near our pants.”

The espresso machine in the kitchen hissed, and Dean glanced up from his email when Aaron jogged into the bedroom. They were both dressed, but Dean had been for hours, while Aaron was just sliding on his suit jacket.

“I’m so late,” Aaron sighed. “Party tonight. That awful woman who’s married to that awful publisher I have to suck up to.” He grabbed his wallet off the dresser and swooped in to hook his elbow around Dean’s neck. Dean eased the laptop shut and gave Aaron a peck on the cheek. His whiskers tickled Dean’s face. “Please say you’re coming. I’ll absolutely die if I have to go alone.” Dean winced.

“The woman with the poodle?” Dean asked. Aaron leaned in and kissed his ear, then gave him a pleading look. “The poodle with painted toenails?” Aaron frowned.

“Please, Dean? I neeeed you to be there, I can’t go solo. They’ll talk marriage at me, and I can’t bear that without you.” Aaron stuck his lower lip out, and Dean pretty much couldn’t say no.

“Oh, all right.” Aaron pumped his fist and jumped up.

“I gotta go! So, so late!” Dean rolled his head back.

“You owe me,” he shouted after his boyfriend.

“Bye!” The door slammed shut. Dean stared after Aaron for a moment, then lifted the screen of the laptop again. He took a deep breath, then glanced at The Colonel, who tilted his head. Dean shrugged at the dog, then continued his email.

“Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. If I knew your name and address,” he told ShopBoy, “I would send you a bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils.” Dean imagined The Colonel scowling at him, but when he looked up, the dog had curled up on his doggy bed and shut his eyes.

It was too early for longing, he reminded himself. They hadn’t even met.

 

“I like to begin my notes to you as if we’re mid-conversation,” Cas typed, a soft, keen smile on his lips. “As though we’re already great, dear friends, as opposed to what we really are: strangers who don’t know one another’s names, and met in the Over Thirty chat room, where we both claimed we’d never been before.”

 

Dean straightened his tie in the mirror and checked his cuffs. As he trotted down the front steps of the brownstone where he made his home with Aaron, he couldn’t help but imagine what ShopBoy’s voice might sound like.

“What will CoffeeAndPie_OhMy say today, I wonder,” ShopBoy’s words floated in Dean’s mind as he paced down the morning sidewalk. “I wake up. I turn on my computer. I wait impatiently to connect, and my breath catches in my chest until I hear those three little words: You’ve got mail.”

 

Cas tugged at the bottom of his cable knit sweater, his stride quickening as he walked to work, past the row of brownstones next to his, thinking about the last words he sent to CoffeeAndPie_OhMy. “I hear nothing, nothing. Not a sound on the city streets, just the beat of my own heart.” He stepped to one side to avoid a flock of pigeons, and it almost felt like a dance. “I have mail. From you.”

 

Ruby was leaning up against the rough brick wall of The Shop Around the Corner when Cas strolled up to the storefront, a cello-wrapped bouquet of purple asters and orange dahlias in the crook of his arm. Ruby flipped her long brown hair casually as he unlocked and lifted the grate. He turned his key in the door as well and held it open for her, flipping the hanging sign from “Closed” to “Open” with a tilt of his head and a soft smile in the direction of nothing at all.

“You’re in a good mood,” Ruby noticed, without so much as a smile, but Cas knew she meant it without cruelty. This was just Ruby. Cas grinned over at her, huddled in her peacoat as the sun burst golden over the New York skyline.

“I just love New York in the fall. Don’t you?” Ruby cocked a brow, peeling off her jacket as she watched Cas walk cheerfully through the store, flipping on the lights.

“I guess,” Ruby shrugged. She went to the safe and punched in the code. Cas pulled a glass vase from one of the cabinets which lined the back wall and carefully placed the flowers in it, fluffing them as he bit his lip.

Ruby peered at him out of the corner of her eye as she pulled the cash drawer out of the safe, crinkling her forehead. She was just swinging the door to the safe shut when Cas shoved a virgin roll of Scotch tape in her face.

“That smell,” he swooned, and spun back to the mahogany counter, dropping the tape into the top drawer and pulling out the schedule book and a sharp pencil.

“What has gotten into you?” Ruby finally asked, incredulous, standing to face Cas with a hand perched on her hip.

“What do you mean?” Cas laughed. He propped his elbow on the counter and rested his chin in his hand, doodling on the schedule sheet. Suddenly Ruby’s eyes lit up and she leaned in, placing a hand on Cas’s shoulder.

“Wait! Did you guys get engaged?”

“What, to Meg? No, absolutely not.” Cas stood up straight and scoffed. “No.”

“Well, what then?” Ruby lifted her hand only to whack Cas gently.

Cas dropped the pencil and tapped his fingers slowly, the absent smile returning to his face.

“I can wait all day, Cas,” Ruby said in her usual sarcastic tone. Cas licked his lips, then shifted his eyes over to her conspiratorially.

“Ruby,” he started, then pursed his lips and turned to lean his back against the counter. “Is it infidelity if you’re involved with someone on email?”

“Depends. Have you had sex?”

“Of course not! I don’t even know him.”

“I mean cybersex. You know, age, sex, location, what are you wearing, all that.”

“No!” Cas crossed his arms defensively.

“Well, I don’t recommend it. They don’t even give you the courtesy of a phone call the next day.” Cas chuckled and brought his hand to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his blush.

“It’s nothing like that. We just email. We talk about nothing, mostly. Books, New York, his German Shepherd. It’s no big deal. In fact, I’m thinking I might stop. It’s not really…”

“Fair to Meg?” Ruby suggested helpfully.

“No! It’s nothing. It’s just…confusing. But not really. Because it’s no big deal!” Cas shrugged and picked up the eraser from the back counter. He walked over the chalkboard and began writing out their Halloween book reading schedule in orange bubble letters. Ruby brought over the orange twinkle lights and began stringing them along the sandwich board.

“You know, Cas,” Ruby said, just above a whisper, though they were the only two people in the store. “He could be anyone. He could be…”

Just then the bell above the door jingled, and Gabriel walked in. Ruby gasped.

“Gabriel.” Cas rolled his eyes. He rolled his whole head.

“Morning. Sorry I’m late.” Gabriel scuffed over the ceramic tiled floor to the brass coat rack in the corner and tossed his jacket on the pile. “Had to wait for my landlady to go back to her apartment before I could leave mine, and let me tell you, she is one patient woman.”

“Morning,” Ruby called over. “Hey, Gabriel. Are you online?”

“No way. As far as I’m concerned the internet is just another way to get rejected by women.” Cas tilted his head dramatically at Ruby.

“See, Gabriel doesn’t even date guys.”

“Haven’t. What’re you guys talking about?” Gabriel parked himself in front of the counter and rubbed his fingers through his pleasantly disheveled golden hair.

“Cas is acting weird,” Ruby told him with a grin. Cas shot Ruby a look, but quickly relaxed his shoulders and chuckled.

“I am not. I’m fine,” Cas assured them, dusting the chalk off his hands. “Who wants coffee?”

“What kind of weird?” demanded Gabriel. “Is he shutting down the shop?” Cas’s eyes went wide.

“You’re shutting down the shop?!” Ruby shouted, suddenly panicked. “What the hell? And why did you tell Gabriel and not me? I’m not going to be able to pay my student loans, Cas!”

“I can barely make rent as it is,” Gabriel added, flustered.

“Everyone calm down, the shop is not going anywhere!” Ruby and Gabriel both audibly sighed in relief. Cas reached out and took both of their hands.

“Look, I know business has been a little slower than normal since Smith Brothers Books opened up across the street. And I know it’s a little nerve-wracking to work for a small business. But you have to believe me. We’ve been in business for two generations now, and we’ve weathered worse storms.

“They’re a huge corporation.” Cas dipped his head in concession. “Sure, they have jumbo macchiatos and cheap books, but they have no expertise. We have two master’s degrees and a doctorate between us. The novelty of that… that superstore,” he practically spat the words, “will wear off. And when it does, we’ll be here. Just like we’ve always been.” Now Ruby and Gabriel looked genuinely repentant. Cas nodded at them in understanding, gently releasing their hands.

“This was my father’s shop, and now it’s mine. It’s special. We’re not letting anything happen to it. The Shop Around the Corner stays open. And that’s final.” Cas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Now, your coffee orders, please.”

 

“Wow, you got it made here, Dean!” Charlie dropped into Dean’s chair and propped her scuffed boots up on his desk, her gaze drifting around the spacious, expensively furnished office. “Livin’ the life, you lucky dog.” Dean squatted down to file some documents in the lowest drawer of his shiny new file cabinet.

“Yeah, well, you know as well as I do, the plans are foolproof.” He stood and turned to face his best friend, wearing his signature smirk. He rocked back on his heels proudly and looked out the wall-to-wall windows at the Manhattan skyline. “We’ve opened twenty-three stores before this one, including yours. We know the drill. This beauty was turning a profit the day she opened.”

“This store is so much bigger than mine! But yeah, it makes sense. Manhattan.” Charlie nodded slowly, seeming to get lost in her thoughts. Dean shifted.

“Does the neighborhood like this store?” Charlie asked, pushing her thick red hair behind her ear.

“You mean the local businesses? Oh god, no. They hate us! We represent the death of everything they hold dear.” Charlie frowned.

“They don’t like us in my hood either. It’s a little depressing.”

“Well, sure, Charlie. The competition is never going to be thrilled you’re there.” Charlie sighed and stared at her feet as Dean spoke.

“But the people,” he continued with the theatrical shake of a finger, “they love us. I mean, there were some little protests in the beginning. ‘Save the independent book sellers,’ things like that. But after they gave us a try, even these snobby Manhattanites realized we’re awesome!”

“We’re every consumer’s dream. Honestly, you can get your holiday shopping done, get a nice little caffeine buzz, and make your way through the check-out line all in under 45 minutes. Tell me where else you can do that, huh? We are it. We’re the future!” Charlie laughed, but it was half-hearted. Dean perched himself on the edge of the desk, reaching out to grab the toe of her boot and wiggling it playfully. She glanced up at him, looking a little bit sick. He sighed.

“Listen. I get what you’re going through. We know right now we’ve put a handful of booksellers in the neighborhood out of business already. There’s really only one left. Across the street, Shop Around the Corner. Little children’s bookstore, been there forever. But Charlie, you can’t worry about these things. It’s dog-eat-dog. May the best man win. And if you’re charging thirty dollars for a kid’s book, my money’s on you ain’t the best man.” That seemed to get a genuine laugh, which made Dean smile. He loved Charlie for her huge heart, but it opened her up to this kind of thing, too. He straightened and clapped his hands in front of him.

“Hey, you want a coffee?” Dean suggested cheerfully. Charlie’s face brightened, and she stood to join him. They strolled together down the long hallway where all the executive offices were lined up. Dean stared at the floor ahead of them as they walked, quietly smirking.

“Dean,” Charlie tried after a few too many moments of complete silence passed.

“Huh, yes, hi,” he replied, out of panic more than anything.

“Are you okay?”

Dean just smiled for a moment.

“’Not a sound on the city streets, nothing, just the beat of my own heart.’ I think it went something like that.”

“Oh!” Charlie jumped a little bit, turning toward him with a wide smile. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I didn’t even ask. How’s Aaron?”

Dean visibly stiffened, his smile now tight.

“Aaron’s good. Aaron… How to put it?” Dean pinched the air in front of his face, thoughtfully gazing into the distance. “He’s still strung higher than a kite, and less fun.” He let his eyes roll a bit, then glanced over at Charlie as they stepped into the elevator car. She gave him a sympathetic smile and pushed the button for the main floor.

“I mean, it’s fine,” Dean added quickly. “We’re fine! We’ve been together for three years now, living together for two. His career is really taking off now, and everything is just…” He trailed off.

“Fine?” Charlie offered. Their eyes met again as the doors opened onto the warmly lit sales floor of Smith Brothers Books, and they exchanged a smirk. They wound their way through aisles full of shoppers, passing elaborate displays of oversized plush toys and giant cardboard storybooks, making their way toward the café in the back.

“So, your soliloquy was not about him, then.” The group of kids in the children’s section suddenly roared with laughter, apparently at something the mascot reading their book had said or done. Charlie and Dean walked faster to get past the noisy area.

“Mmm, no,” Dean tried, as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Not Aaron. How about you, Charlie?” Dean whacked her on the back with an open palm and grinned, moving swiftly on. “Any special lady in your life these days?” She inhaled deeply, then puffed her cheeks out and raised her hands in surrender.

“Pretty much no. Still no.” They both laughed. “Any leads for me?”

“None so far. I promise I’ll keep my eyes peeled. The next rich blonde business lesbian I meet, I’ll send her your way.” Charlie play-pouted at Dean, a sparkle in her eye, and tucked her hair back behind her ear.

“It’s like they say, all the good ones are either married or straight.” Dean grinned.

“Who says that?”

“Me, mostly.”

“Fair enough.”

Dean wrapped an arm around Charlie’s shoulder, squeezing her in a side hug. She nudged his shoulder with her head. The piped in music of that week’s promoted holiday album filled the silence in the wake of their conversation, and they walked the rest of the way to the café in their awkward, comfortable embrace.

 

ShopBoy:  
_Have you ever been to another city as loud as New York? I’m convinced that none exists. It is so loud that it’s quiet. The cacophony of endless demolition and construction, clubs blasting terrible music well into the early morning hours. Garbage trucks and taxi cabs, jet planes that have never once done the things they were designed to do; they were simply placed in our great city by God to drown out the sound of the largest rat population on Earth, so we can sleep in peace. I can’t hear my own thoughts over the sound of a million New Yorkers complaining about the tourists at once, and I absolutely couldn’t live anywhere else._

Dean bit his lip and wondered if there wasn’t a law against being as completely delightful as this creature, whom he’d met at random in a chatroom full of weird strangers. He stood from the desk in his den and patted the Colonel’s head, then picked up the phone and punched speed dial 1. He crossed his free arm over his body as the phone rang.

“Charlie!” He perked up just hearing his best friend’s voice.

“Yes, I know it’s Saturday night.”

“Yeah, normal people do get together on the weekend.” He paced the floor, smiling.

“Nope. Nope. Aaron’s at some work thing tonight.”

“No, you absolutely may not stay there on your couch. Put on some damn pants, we’re getting drinks. I need to talk. I need my girl. Alright. Okay. Yes, in public. Good.”

He cracked up, doubling over as the Colonel looked on curiously. He wiped away the tear that was forming in the corner of his eye and sighed, relaxing his grin.

“God you’re such a dork. Okay. See you in an hour. Love you too, bye.”

 

CoffeeAndPie_OhMy:  
_My nephew, Jack (my brother’s five year-old son) bestowed an important dispensation upon me recently. He taught me how to make it through a family gathering successfully. Since I like you, I’ll share my newly acquired revelation._  
_Step one: eat somewhere from three to five servings of dessert, right off the bat. Don’t even wait. This not only builds your energy reserves, for when you need to tear around the house, like a cat at 3AM.; it also immediately shows all of your relatives you mean business._  
_Step two: Sneak sips of room temperature, very sweet coffee from your favorite auntie. This will give you something to do with your mouth, when you think you might engage a family member in conversation (always a mistake). Also, more energy._  
_Step three: spin in circles, laughing hysterically, until you find that you’re too dizzy to stand, then – and speed is the key element here – IMMEDIATELY melt down into an awful fit of frustration and tears, and, once you’ve worn yourself out crying, fall asleep precisely in the center of the living room rug._  
_Jack pulls the whole thing off flawlessly, though I confess, I have only ever tried step three._

Cas was grinning stupidly at the screen when the door to the apartment slammed shut.

“I quit!” Meg groaned. Cas heard her purse flop onto the table as she came around the corner. He closed his laptop and stood to greet her.

“Hi, honey,” he said, walking over and leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “Rough day?” She touched her fingers to his cheek and sighed.

“I’ll go back tomorrow. Just let me entertain the idea of quitting forever for this evening.” Cas smirked.

“Well, you’ll be glad to know I’ve nearly bankrupted my father’s bookshop.” He walked over to the baker’s rack and swung a bottle of wine out, glancing back at Meg, who looked horrified. “Oh no, it’s okay,” he said flatly. “It’s just the shop he scrimped and saved to open, the one he worked his fingers to the bone for. Just his greatest pride and joy, outside of his family. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me running it into the ground in the space of six months.”

“Baby,” Meg whispered. “Is it that bad?”

“I met with the accountant today. She says I have another two months of paying my employees and rent, unless something changes.” Meg brought her fingers to her mouth, but in seconds the look of shock on her face turned to one of righteous indignation. Cas peeled off the foil and twisted the corkscrew angrily into the neck of the bottle.

“It’s that new store, isn’t it?” Meg guessed, correctly. “Those bastards. We’ll shut ‘em down. They’re dead.” Cas sneered over at her, cranking the handle of the wine key down until the cork popped out. He tossed the whole rig onto the counter, not bothering to remove the cork, and placed the bottle on the table in front of Meg with a thud. His shoulders slumped.

“I don’t know. I just wonder, sometimes.” Meg reached out to touch his hand, waiting for him to go on. “This was Dad’s dream. I love the store, of course I do, but maybe I only love it because I miss him.” He sighed. Meg seemed to sense that he wasn’t finished.

“And I don’t mean to be so full of my own virtue that I develop a martyr complex. I have always felt good about the service we provide, and the way we’re a part of the community. But, well, if a multinational conglomerate can move in across the street and shut us down just by offering discounts and selling thousand calorie coffees, then is our service even all that valuable?”

Meg’s eyes narrowed, and she scooted her chair forward, staring Cas dead in the eye.

“You listen to me. You are a pillar of this community.” Cas jutted his lower lip out, meaning to show Meg how moved he was by her compliment.

“Oh my God, thank you, honey. That is so sweet.” Meg touched his cheek, but her eyes broke contact with his as she turned something over in her mind. She backed her chair up and went over to the desk, grabbing a pen and pad. She started scribbling notes.

“You are a lighthouse.” She underlined the last word three times. “You’re a lighthouse,” Cas straightened, putting a hand on his hip.

“A lighthouse,” he repeated to himself hesitantly.

“You are a LIGHTHOUSE,” Meg shouted, ruffling her wild curls in her hands, then sweeping her arms in a wide gesture. “Guiding school children away from the jagged rocks of juvenile delinquency,” she proclaimed with fervor, “and toward the safe harbor of literacy!” Meg spun her chair to face him again, her smile wide and proud. Cas looked up at the ceiling and nodded slowly.

“I’m a lighthouse,” he confirmed. He turned on his heel and went to the cupboard for two wine glasses.

“We’ll shut them down so fast, they won’t know what hit ‘em,” Meg continued. “Mass produced public domain books sold at a 600% markup is hardly a reason to call yourself a ‘discount’ bookstore!” She was on a roll. There’d be no stopping her now. Cas brought the wine glasses to the table and set them down, pouring far more than a standard pour of wine into each one. He lifted his and nodded his head, then took a deep drink.

“We’ll have a picket line, and a sale on your first editions! I’ll get Harry on the phone. He can get you on the front page of the business section. You just be you. You’re _perfect_ as you,” Meg reassured. Cas dropped into one of the dining room chairs. He might’ve been tuning out a little. He just wanted to sell children’s books. He just wanted to recommend Matilda, and, The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe to a few more kids whose lives they would totally change forever. He wondered, taking another sip of wine, if he even needed to order any more inventory.

“The holidays are coming, so we’ve got that on our side,” Meg’s voice said, somewhere far off.

How would he tell Ruby and Gabriel? He’d promised. He’d be failing so many people. What would his dad do in a situation like this? He swallowed and let his eyes drift shut. His dad would fight. Cas knew he would. But he wasn’t sure how much fight he had in him.

“And New York City will never be the same. Right honey?” Cas blinked his eyes open and turned to face Meg. She looked at him, full of piss and vinegar, but more importantly, an idealism that Cas wasn’t sure he possessed anymore. Her face was expectant.

“Right, baby. Thank you.”

“Of course. Anything for you,” she said, now drawing up an outline. She had her highlighters out. Things were about to get color-coded. For Cas. Or something.

 

ShopBoy:  
_I have a confession. I’ve bought the same cream-colored sweater four times this year. Each time, I tell myself that I am, in fact, a fully-grown adult who will not dribble coffee, or merlot, or tomato soup down the front of any light-colored shirt I wear. I have not proven myself right yet. And yet, I persevere._

Dean was chuckling, rubbing the stubble on his upper lip and pondering what his response would be, when his brother walked into his office in a navy Dolce suit and boat shoes.

“Heya Sammy, what’s the good word?” Sam raised his eyebrows, looking none too pleased. He swatted the business section of the Times down on the desk in front of Dean.

“Cas Novak doesn’t have one good word for us, I’ll tell you that.” Dean read the headline.

 _DOWN WITH SMITH BROTHERS BOOKS_ : LOCAL MERCHANT ORGANIZES PROTEST, FUNDRAISER TO SAVE LATE FATHER’S BOOKSTORE

Dean’s brow furrowed as he looked up at Sam.

“Cas who, now?”

“Cas Novak. Shop Around the Corner? You can probably see the picket line if you look out the window.” Sam shook his head and sighed, rubbing his temples. “Pain in my ass.”

Dean squinted at the outside world through the panes of glass he’d had to order custom, then stood up and went to the window. Looking down, he could make out a dozen picketers on the sidewalk below, marching in front of their store.

“The hell?” Dean wondered aloud.

“Yeah. They’ve been out there for an hour, tops, and the Times puts ‘em on B1. Sounds right.” Sam was pacing now. “God knows New Yorkers won’t cross a picket line, even if they don’t have a clue what the cause is. And this guy makes it about his dead dad?” Sam stops next to the window to scowl. Dean laughs nervously.

“Not ideal,” he offers. Sam tips his head sarcastically.

“You don’t say. Haven’t had a goddamn customer since they got here.”

“Listen, how much trouble can one guy make?” Dean scoffs. “I’ll just go down and talk to him, no big deal!” Sam jerks his head back.

“The hell you will. Lookit this.” He grabs the clicker for television mounted in the corner of the office and flicks it on. There they are, plastered across the TV news, but they look like normal protestors to Dean. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

The camera pans to a dark haired, attractive man in a black wool coat, standing at a makeshift podium. Sam turns the volume up three notches. “Don’t you want to be able to visit the independent bookseller you grew up with?” he yelled into his microphone.

“Yeah!” cheered the crowd of heads at the bottom of the screen. “What’s a bargain-priced book worth to you, Manhattan? If we buy enough five-dollar books, it will cost us our souls!” Dean groaned. Sam sighed.

“Yeah. Cas Novak. Saving the city with his little indie bookstore. Well, not for long!” Sam jabbed a finger in the direction of the TV, which was now showing the crowds of bystanders in front of the man’s podium. They were going wild with some newfound enthusiasm for expensive books, which Dean was not sure could possibly be authentic.

“We got time, my friend,” Sam threatened the man inside the TV. “Nothing but time.” Dean sat back down. That wasn’t exactly true. They both knew this. But Sammy never backed down from a fight. So, Dean knew they were in it now. And just in time for the holidays.


End file.
